


look out on a summer's day

by isshun



Series: Down the Rabbit Hole [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Part of a series but can be read as a standalone, a month too late for akafuri day again sigh i am terrible with deadlines, akashi fistclench masaomi lmao, furi likes love live a tad bit too much (for the wrong reasons), furihata finds happiness, mentions of Love Live!, my boy deserves all the happiness he can get in this world, tw: anxiety, tw: anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:31:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isshun/pseuds/isshun
Summary: In which Furihata comes to terms with himself, his relationship and the world, and meets someone unexpected along the way.“He was always too soft,” the man grunts, fists clenched and knuckles dangerously white, “always took after his mother. Too soft.”Furihata thinks of red eyes with determination and resilience ablaze, hands that have shaken and sealed over a thousand deals that always brought the conglomerate prosperity and fortune, and shoulders that have always withstood the test of time and borne every burden stacked upon them with admirable resolve and pigheaded stubbornness.“No sir,” he says, smiling fondly at the comparison drawn up in his mind, papa Akashi and little bocchan Akashi and his expensive baby clothes. What a family they must have been in the past when the glass never cracked and everything was picture perfect.“He takes after you. Too much, sometimes.”





	look out on a summer's day

**Author's Note:**

> i can’t believe i finished a wip i left hanging since 2014 omg. am staring at myself in horror and disbelief over this abomination i’ve created and posted here. from 3k, to 6, to 8, to 9, then 10k, im.
> 
>  
> 
> **This story has mentions of anxiety peppered all over its scenes. To skip the anxiety attack scene, please skip from the line "It wasn't easy to get to where they are today." to "Are you sure you don’t want to go ahead first? Tetsuya should be in town already."**
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you :)

 

 

_ the sun came up and i was looking at you _

 

 

❁

 

 

Sunset in Tokyo comes as quickly as it bleeds away into dark blue patches of cloudy night skies, red sun searing into the horizon before it disappears from view behind a skyscraper. The last tinges of orange and purple give way to the dark blue hues of the night sky, and for a moment, it leaves Furihata Kouki standing alone in the quiet kitchen with an empty, hollow feeling settling between the weary spaces of his bones.

Strange. Subconsciously, his mind begins a self-check routine for when was the last time he felt so inadequate against the mere ~~loss~~ passing of sunset and time. He stares down at the nabe pot bubbling on the heated stovetop and searches for the right word to identify his emotions correctly, as how his therapist would do.

“If you continue staring into space like that, you might just float away into the clouds with our dinner, Kouki.”

“Seijuro!” Said brunet gasps, turning around with such speed that would make Aomine Daiki cry, “what did we just talk about knocking the other day?!”

“But I did.” Akashi discards his suffocating necktie, the sleeves of his starched shirt rolled up to his elbows, and paddles up to his beloved glaring harmlessly at him by the kitchen counter. He rests his hands on bony sides of slim waist and presses an obligatory kiss into the hollow of Furihata’s neck. It works – the inadequacy gnawing at his bones subsides a little and the familiar warmth beckons him to melt himself into the embrace.

“I’m home,” Akashi murmurs, taking delight in the way Furihata’s pulse quickens at his touch. And, as an afterthought, he adds, “you smell like bread.”

Furihata laughs, lovely bell chimes echoing across the kitchen walls. “I visited Mitobe-senpai in the culinary arts building today. I haven’t showered yet, I just got home a while ago too.”

“Smells good.”

“You mean dinner?”

“You are dinner, Kouki. _My dinner._ ”

“Seijuro, please.” Furihata scoffs and ignores all further (rather distasteful, he notes) advances and continues stirring the ingredients in the pot absentmindedly, waiting for the soup to boil so that they can have the proper meal that they’ve been missing out on for the past few days. Akashi is finally home early for once to have dinner, and Furihata had made sure to add lots of tofu after exchanging recipes with Takao who cooks excellent dinners for Midorima.

_“Shin-chan needs all the nutrients he can get for that freakish genius brain of his. Med school’s pretty tough on him, yknow.”_

They haven’t seen each other in more than 36 hours, Furihata supposes that should set a brand new record for the years they’ve spent together, and it more than ought to explain the unusual affectionate behaviour Akashi is currently exhibiting, slung over him like a koala feeding on a eucalyptus tree. Because of this, he doesn’t bat away the extra pair of chopsticks sneaking into view to steal a cube of tofu from the hotpot when dinner is served.

(It’s good. Akashi deserves to have his cheeky, childish moments. Furihata is determined to help Akashi make up for all the lost childhood moments he had been deprived of when he was still a child.)

“This sukiyaki tastes excellent, Kouki.”

Furihata’s chopsticks clink together in embarrassment. The happiness that wells inside his heart presses against his ribcage until it threatens to burst into incandescent butterflies soaring into the sky. This surge of endorphins in his bloodstream reflects in his eyes too, well, whatever that hasn’t disappeared behind upturned cheeks spotting faint blushes of red and pink.

“Only because I added tofu,” he chirps, scooping a generous serving of the white jiggly bean curd into Akashi’s bowl.

It is a Friday, and Akashi has just gotten home from an exhausting day full of classes and replying to business emails during his spare time. Furihata had arrived home earlier from the university, (being only an arts major, his schedule was decidedly more lax and flexible than Akashi’s who had courageously took up the challenge of double majoring in law and economics) and decided that he would make a nabe dish before the redhead comes home so the warm soup would wash away whatever remnants of the cold that had settled in their bones.

They take their seats by the table made for two. Furihata eagerly starts slurping on his udon while Akashi continues on his tirade for his most favourite food in this world.

“Tofu is wonderful, Kouki. I don’t see why you should prejudice yourself against such a delicious delicacy.”

“Which do you love, tofu or me?” Furihata bites back harmlessly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

But then Akashi’s eyes soften, and he leans forward across the table to rest his cold palm against the brunet’s cheek.

“You,” he says, voice quiet, eyes warm, “always you.”

 

 

❁

 

 

But of course, like always, the odd feeling of dread and restlessness sitting at the back of Furihata’s mind comes crawling back to his consciousness at the end of the day when they’re all bathed and fed and laying in bed lost in their thoughts.

"What's on our schedule tomorrow again, Kouki?"

Furihata tears his eyes away from the ceiling and turns to Akashi who is putting away his iPad on the side table by their bed.

“You have a meeting with the shogi competition committee in the morning, Sei.” he shuffles to closer to the redhead who laces their fingers together, “they want to go through the event flow one last time before the competition next week. And then Kuroko wants to meet up at Shibuya for lunch in the afternoon."

Akashi hums in acknowledgement, absentmindedly stroking the back of his beloved’s hand with a calloused thumb. They gaze into each other’s eyes for a while, until Furihata feels the staring turning into a little bit of a psychoanalysis on his mental well-being from Akashi’s side, and he has to force himself to relax and remind himself that this is Akashi, his boyfriend of five years and counting since they were hormonal teenagers at the sweet age of sixteen, and they have seen each other at their worst and gotten through the tough times together.

A quiet sigh escapes his lips, prompting Akashi to break the silence in their shared bedroom.

“Are you okay?”

Furihata knows the true meaning behind those words. He forces a smile on his lips and tightens his grip on their entwined fingers.

“It’s just one of those long days, you know?”

Akashi nods, his eyes laced with so much concern that if Furihata felt any more worse, he’s pretty sure he would dissolve into a weeping mess in the sheets of their shared bed. But tonight the anxiety coursing through his veins feels bearable and manageable enough, so he assures the redhead that maybe it’ll go away in the morning (they both know it's highly unlikely, but one can hope), and that they should really get some sleep now if they want to wake up on time for Akashi’s shogi competition committee meeting tomorrow.

“It’s perfectly alright to feel like this, Kouki.” Akashi reminds him again.

They don’t say things like “I just want you to be happy” or “feel better soon” to each other because it’s simply impossible for two people with inner demons haunting their waking moments every so often to always be at peace with themselves, so they can only become each other’s safeplace and a reminder that the hard times will pass.

Tomorrow will be a better day, Furihata thinks (hopes) as he presses a kiss to Akashi's jaw before he falls asleep, tucked safely under the comforting pressure of warm arms draped over himself.

 

 

❁

 

 

The empty side of the bed is still warm when Furihata wakes up. Tokyo’s late spring comes into focus as Furihata rubs his eyes and orients himself to reality amongst the heavy weight of the blanket pinning him under.

Huh, they should really bring out the thinner blankets now that spring is ending and summer beginning.

The emptiness of the bed and loss of its other occupant comes as no surprise to Furihata. Usually, Akashi is the first to wake up, no matter how much of a train wreck he feels from exhaustion the next day. He is a man of discipline and routine, and never fails to brew coffee in the pot before the clock strikes eight in the morning. A complete opposite of Furihata who sleeps in as much as he can and requires the force of at least ten alarm clocks to wake himself up in time for ass a.m. morning classes.

(Well, Furihata supposes that’s why they work so well together – they complement each other like yin and yang and everything always feels complete when the other is around. Akashi needs love, and Furihata wants- _needs_ to be needed.)

By the time Furihata freshens up and pads sloggishly into the kitchen, Akashi is already sitting by the table, coffee mug in one hand and iPad resting on the other as he reviews his company’s accounts with a frown on his face. Upon seeing Furihata walk through the door, the frown melts away like spring born anew and his face lights up with that soft, gentle smile Furihata has always loved.

“Good morning, Kouki. I set the coffee machine on brew already.” He smiles as Furihata presses a light kiss to his forehead.

He peels away from Akashi’s lingering touch to pour himself some much needed coffee, and pretends to unsee when Akashi winces at the packet of creamer and 9034702974 teaspoons of sugar he dumps into his coffee mug to start his day afresh as a perfectly functioning human being (albeit with a slightly dysfunctional, anxiety-prone mind).

“Kouki…”

“What?” Furihata can feel the effects of sugar rush kicking in. His mind is waking up now and registering the pressure of Akashi’s arm around his waist and pulling him closer for a kiss. It’s been too long since they spent slow, quiet mornings with each other, because when Akashi is not busy with managing the company in the middle of his studies, Furihata is busy drowning in the art lab sketching plans after plans of green buildings and ergonomic architecture just for that passing grade. So, Furihata tries not to feel too self-conscious when he desperately clings to his boyfriend, their kisses languid yet open-mouthed and needy and their wandering hands mapping the planes of each other’s body that they’ve come to know so well through the years.

“You taste like sweet coffee, too much milk and sugar.” Akashi comments, nipping his lower lip and eliciting a quiet gasp from his lover, “it’s terribly addictive.”

“I thought you hated sweet things.”

“I love it when it’s how you taste.”

Furihata groans and pulls away, glaring at his redhead boyfriend who chuckles with much mirth in his eyes.

“You can’t say things like that so early in the morning, I can’t deal with all this secondhand embarrassment when my mind’s barely started to function.”

“Indulge me, Kouki. We haven’t spent much time together, and this is the longest I’ve spent with you all week. I must correct this oversight immediately, since the both of us went to bed early yesterday and missed the opportunity to enjoy each other’s company for long.”

“You say such cheesy things Kise’s probably beaming at how well his horrible lessons turned out to be. The last time you said such things in front of Midorima, I think you gave him an aneurysm.”

Akashi tuts, but without bite.

“Admit it, Kouki, you enjoy my lines.”

Furihata thinks back to the times in high school when Akashi failed miserably at trying to use pickup lines he learned from the yellow miracle to woo him, and the laughter that escapes him upon that brief recollection of memory echoes loud and clear across the walls of the kitchen. In retrospect, Akashi looked silly holding a bouquet of red roses and spouting ridiculous lines such as “you must be one hell of a thief, because you stole my heart from across the room” and the like, but his efforts were commendable and Furihata has accepted that loving this man before him means loving the embarrassing side of the redhead as well.

“It helped me believe I could stand beside you I guess, knowing that you weren’t perfect at everything, that you sucked at wooing me, that there was something you needed me to help and guide you with since you weren’t really in touch with ‘modern courtship rituals’, as you used to put it.”

Akashi’s smile is soft, but bright – radiant. He cups Furihata’s cheeks with warm hands and rests their foreheads together.

“I will always need you, Kouki.” He murmurs, “please always stay by my side.”

Furihata swallows thickly and nods. When the kisses stop and the high that comes with Akashi’s fierce, ardent love fades away, the restlessness from yesterday starts to trickle back into his system. There are no words to describe the lump of emotion lodged in his throat, or the prickly feeling behind his closed eyelids, so he just settles for chaste kisses over Akashi’s cheeks, his jaw, the upturned corners of his lips, and maybe he’ll stop feeling like a five ton truck crushed and ran over his bones a thousand times at an agonising speed of 20 kilometres per hour.

“Me too,” he breathes, trying to convince himself that high school has passed and they’ve grown so much together as lovers and nothing will ever come between this special bond they share, “so don’t ever leave me behind, okay? Don’t throw me awa–”

Akashi pulls back so suddenly Furihata almost loses his balance against the edge of the coffee counter. The former’s eyes are a quiet storm, and his shoulders heave up and down in response to his uneven breathing, lungs filled with rage and emotion.

“No.” he says quietly, but the force behind that single syllable is enough to create multiple echoes, ripples of disturbance within Furihata’s ears, like thunder pounding away in a distance.

_Never._

Furihata is stunned, unable to respond except the quiet ‘oh’ that escapes his lips when Akashi sweeps him into his arms for a tight embrace, their bodies pressed against each other as if the presence of any space left in between them would turn Furihata into sand and blow him away with the morning breeze.

Furihata can only cling onto the love that Akashi offers, that anchors him to the present, away from the dark confines of his mind.

 

 

❁

 

 

On clear days, the dorm wing of the Todai Hongo campus bustles into life with swarms of students scurrying to and back from classes. Even on Sundays, the park is decorated with little squares of picnic mats laid on the ground, picturesque paintings of people enjoying the warm summer breeze with their pre-packed sandwiches and bento lunches coming into life.

Furihata and Akashi walk past this every day, sometimes together (when their class hours coincide), sometimes alone.

It wasn't easy to get to where they are today. Furihata remembers the day they sat for the university’s insane entrance exams. He’s been religiously attending cram school after practice and inhaling the extra printouts akin to an extremely unhealthy addiction to drugs, so much that sometimes his family has to shove food in his face and boot him out of the house for some much-needed fresh air and sunshine, just so he remembers how to live.

The tension in the air is so thick that Furihata almost suffocates to death. They’re huddled together by the bench, Akashi is giving him last-minute pointers and going through the flashcards of english vocabulary they’ve made but nothing is registering in his mind. Furihata's nerves are a train-wreck, his brain has ceased all operations and is on the receiving end of the static channel in a white empty room.

And when it's time to enter the exam hall and everyone's shuffling towards ~~their doom~~ the hall, Akashi pulls him aside, away from the eyes of the public and plants a firm kiss on his lips. It’s not quite the best way to soothe his nerves but still, he’s pretty certain it’s the most effective way of getting his message across, loud and clear.

"Breathe.” he commands, thumbs stroking the hollow of the brunet’s cheeks, slightly sunken from all the stress of sleepless nights spent in front of the desk working through mathematical equations and scientific concepts over and over again, with such discipline and dedication it would put a military drill to shame.

The panic and fear is apparent in Furihata’s wide hazel eyes. Akashi wills it all away and puts as much assurance and confidence as he can into his words.

“You'll do fine. Best of luck, Kouki."

It’s hard when the person you love is also the source of your anxiety. Furihata would know. The panic attacks have reduced throughout the years, but in high school it was pretty bad. Furihata can remember the days he’d spent in his room, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself down while he miserably fails to sort out the mess in his head.

He doesn’t want people to see him like this, especially Akashi. It’s such a juxtaposition, he needs to have his alone time, but the loneliness makes everything so much worse. It creeps into the darkest corners of his mind and taunts him with horrible whispers of words he knows are false, but can’t find it in himself to deny because every lie stems from an inkling of truth, this much he knows.

He thinks of calling Akashi, just to hear his soothing voice wash over him and maybe make himself feel better, but then the voice behind his head reminds him that Akashi’s probably got his life and emotions sorted out way before they even met, that he’s probably too busy dealing with his perfect life unlike Furihata who is stuck trying to escape from the confines of his mind and his anxiety starts skyrocketing through the roof while his mood swings in the complete opposite direction, plummeting past all 17 circles of hell into the bottom of nowhere.

_Falling, falling,_

_falling–_

Akashi wouldn’t need someone like him. Akashi didn’t sign up to deal with the emotional baggage that came along with someone shitty like him.

And god, it hurts. Too much. Furihata clutches at his pillow and curls into a ball of misery in bed. Maybe if he hugs himself tighter, less space in between the gaps of his limbs, maybe it’ll go away, and maybe he’ll be normal again.

Oh god, who is he kidding?

He thinks of all the screw-ups, failures in basketball practices, the loss of the library chair election, numbers in economy reports that never make sense, _the enormous gap between Akashi and him that can never be filled no matter how much he tries,_ and the bitter taste of defeat almost makes him throw up in his bed.

And then he cries, quiet sobs wrecking his entire body while he tries – fails – miserably to stifle his sobs. Nobody’s home, but walls have ears and nowhere feels safe enough for him to release his pent up frustration and sadness lodged in heart. Furihata feels so undeserving of this stupid ability to cry he berates himself for even shedding tears right now while his teammates are in class acting as responsible young adults and attending training practice as they should be, like responsible club members who have the words INTER HIGH stamped across their minds as a reminder of the deadline, _the pressure_ looming over them.

_Why am I so sad?_

“Why can’t I be enough?”

The walls don’t reply him. Fuck, he’s not even worthy of a reply from inanimate objects.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Furihata’s anxiety spikes before he tries to remind himself that his classmates are all in school, it’s early afternoon and nobody would be around, his parents are at work and maybe it’s the postman who needs to do his job and get the family stamp for a parcel delivered.

He wants to ignore the door, desperately, because he’s not ready to meet anyone yet in this pitiful state of mind, but then the doorbell chimes again and Furihata’s already scrambling across the threshold, wiping his tear-streaked, snot-laced face and trying to breathe and hopes desperately that the postman will just get the stamp and leave without asking any questions.

He struggles to open the door, and realises the reason – he’s still clutching his pillow and oh fuck he’s in a ratty shirt and his boxers and is in absolutely no state to greet the postman for fuck’s sake and god next time he’ll have to tell his mother to receive parcels lest he be remembered–

The door swings open, and Akashi Seijuro stands before him.

Furihata drops his pillow.

He also remembers his tear-streaked face, bloodshot eyes puffy from crying all night and his inappropriate attire and instincts propel him to slam the door shut _in his boyfriend’s face._

Furihata thinks he deserves a medal for Worst Boyfriend Award of the century.

But Akashi isn’t called the Red Emperor for nothing. His insane reflexes enable him to hold the door before it really slams shut in his face and slides into the genkan effortlessly..

“Kouki–”

“Why are you here? Oh my god, is this a dream? Fuck, what’s going on why are you here why-” He’s hyperventilating, fingers clawing at his face and his mind drowning in panic that he doesn’t register Akashi closing the door, sidestepping the fallen (forgotten) pillow and making a beeline for him. Always for him.

“Kouki, calm down.” he says, hands gently but firmly trying to remove stiff fingers from digging into his lover’s own face, “hey, it’s just me, alright?”

“No no no no no you’re not supposed to see me like this–”

“Kouki– _Kouki, stop._ ” Akashi’s voice resounds across the hall, firm and commanding, effectively rooting Furihata to the ground and shocking him into submission and obedience. Akashi exhales in relief, and this time succeeds in prying off those fingers from the brunet’s face. His heart clenches at the angry red marks blooming across tear-stained cheeks, so he gently caresses his thumbs across those marks in hopes that they will fade with time.

The repetitive motion soothes Furihata a little, calms him down until his breathing is no longer hitched and frenzy and subconsciously, the brunet raises his own hands to press them firmly against cold ones resting against his cheeks. Akashi smiles a little, relieved at the response.

“You’re here.” Furihata breathes, still stuck in disbelief and wonder.

“Yes, yes I am here. To see you.” Akashi tells him with a patient smile, like a parent handling a difficult child with so much love and care, and it makes Furihata ache that he’s here, with this man who loves him so much in his home.

“Why– How did you know–” He can’t formulate his thoughts properly now, his mind is hazy and worn out from trying to grasp at the situation. There is this sheet of glass separating him from the world, and everything seems obscured and muffled by the echoes rippling above him, drowning him slowly, unconsciously, like a silent ticking time-bomb waiting to explode at the last note and beat of a baby’s lullaby.

“You weren’t answering your phone for two days, Kouki, and your behaviour has been a bit unusual for the past few weeks. I was worried, so I texted Tetsuya and he says that you’ve been calling in sick for a few days, and that you were absent from class today.”

“Oh.” His mind wanders to the mobile phone he’s switched off and chucked across his room, hidden somewhere in a corner with the screen lying face down. After he texted the team with a vague, sorry excuse of a reason, informing them that he wouldn’t be able to attend practice, he pretty much wiped his own existence off the surface of the earth because he couldn’t stand to read the replies (pity messages, get-well-soon messages, enquiry messages) and the thought of having to reply to those messages sent him sinking deeper into his own quicksand of misery and fear.

But then something clicks in his mind, and Akashi must have noticed a shift in his expression because the hold on his cheeks tighten a little when Furihata whispers–

“I made you miss school.”

The lull disappears, the haze dissipates and suddenly the panic is back, thoughts of _‘you made him miss school you made him do something bad you caused him trouble he had to come down all the way from Kyoto just to check on your sorry ass to see if your pathetic self was still alive it’s your fault it’s your fault your fault your fault your fault’_ start repeating themselves relentlessly in waves and it takes Furihata all he has to not crumple on the floor and cave to the stinging, unbearable ache pounding across his chest.

“Kouki? It’s alright Kouki, I wanted to. I missed you.”

But Furihata can’t hear him beneath the sea of crippling self-doubt and loath shrouding his mind. He feels like he’s drowning from the stifling pain in his lungs and fuck, he needs to get away.

“I’m sorry–” he chokes– gasps–

Akashi hushes him, trying to pull him into his arms but Furihata pushes him away in desperation and tries to flee to his room.

“Kouki, please–”

“I keep fucking up everything I don’t deserve shit–”

“Kouki, look at me, please–”

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry–_

“I can’t–” Everything sucks and Akashi is better off without someone like him in his life. He probably regrets coming down and probably regrets even meeting someone so horrible like him and this fucking sucks–

The room starts spinning, there is this vacuum in his lungs that’s swallowing up all the air in the room and fuck, he can’t breathe–

_“Furihata.”_

The room stills. Akashi’s grip is firm on his shoulders, and he’s using his captain voice to speak, instructing him to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out – yes, Kouki, that’s right – breathe in, breathe out–

Furihata doesn’t even notice that Akashi is slowly leading them to the living room until he feels the soft cushion of the sofa underneath him. They’re sitting down, facing each other as Akashi holds his hands gently, guiding him back to the present until his voice becomes softer, and softer until it fades away into the walls of the room and Furihata’s respiratory system reboots and starts functioning on its own again.

Akashi regards him carefully, his thumbs still stroking the back of Furihata’s hands when he speaks quietly.

“Okay?”

It takes Furihata a while to process that single word, and slowly, after a torturous period of silence, despite everything that’s going on in his life leading to one big Not Okay, he nods very slightly. Akashi’s shoulders relax a little more.

“Can I get you a glass of water?” he asks.

Furihata exhales shakily. There is a dull thump behind his mind, a tiny voice that tells him to stop inconveniencing people when they’ve already done so much for him, so he shakes his head and tries to stand. Akashi follows him immediately.

“No no, I’ll do it myself. I’m– You’re the guest, please sit down.” He doesn’t turn to look at Akashi’s expression, afraid of the disappointment, worry and anger that will stare right back at him if he does, so he makes his way to the kitchen, reaches for a mug from the rack with trembling hands, and watches numbly as water fills up the empty space to the brim of the mug.

He feels drained and tired, like his mind is irreparably broken and nothing will ever be okay again, and halfway through filling up the second cup, his vision mists over and suddenly he’s bracing himself against the kitchen sink, eyes screwed shut and palm covering his mouth as he tries, again, without much success (as always), to stifle the sobs threatening to spill out of the cracks of his soul in heaps.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, shoulders hunched and his eyes buried behind the heels of his palm – it could’ve been forever, but it could’ve been for a split second too; time doesn’t really register when the world feels as if it’s going to crack, crumble and explode into pieces before your very own eyes – but when he’s enveloped in a really tight hug, as if this hug could hug all the sadness out of his bones, he can only bury his face in shame while he gives in to the sadness that washes over him like tidal waves lapping up the foreshore.

Sadness squeezes his heart so tight, crushes his contracting muscles so painfully that all the air in his lungs vanishes along with whatever composure he had left to begin with.

_Why am I so sad?_

Akashi says nothing and continues to hold him while Furihata clings to him, the streaks of shadows of the afternoon sun weeping along with him until the sadness subsides a little.

After what seems to be an eternity of pain and misery, Furihata musters the energy to speak, voice raspy from disuse.

“I’m sorry.” _For a lot of things, for making you worry, for making you come down all the way here, for being such a screw up–_

But Akashi only hushes him. When the sobs die down, everything is quiet. Furihata stands in front of his beloved, arms limp by his side, not knowing what to say to make things okay again.

“Kouki, love,” Akashi smiles sadly and guides Furihata to the kitchen table, helping him to sit. He wipes tears and snot off the brunet’s face, using his bare hands because he loves him so.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don't apologise, my love.”

“I don’t know why I’m so sad.” Furihata whispers.

“It’s alright to feel like this. Please don’t beat yourself up over this, hm?”

“But sometimes I feel like I can never be happy again.” A tear escapes from the corner of his eyes, and Akashi traps it with his thumb, wiping it across his cheek and (despite the ugly tears and filthy snot on his face) still looks at him like he hung the moon and stayed around to position the stars.

“This feeling, everything piles up, then suddenly I’m not okay, _sometimes for days,_ and everything just crumbles apart. And it gets worse because it’s not okay, everyone’s doing fine but I’m here panicking and wondering why I can’t be normal–”

“Kouki–”

“–because I’m not good enough!” Furihata bursts, eyes wide with fear in the reflection of Akashi’s concerned eyes, “I’m never enough.” he looks down at his own hands, the thought sinking into his bones and suddenly his vision blurs with fresh tears.

“You will always be enough, you are more than enough, Kouki. You work so hard, you burn so bright with your determination, and that’s one of the qualities I love so much about you. You stay strong even though you are afraid, you are brave, Kouki, please realise that.”

“You don’t understand, Seijuro. I have all this stupid emotional baggage, I can’t deal with my anxiety without breaking apart, sometimes every day feels like a _living nightmare_ and look at you, you have to come all the way here, skip your classes, and when your father hears this you’ll be punished and it’s all my fault because I can’t deal–”

“Kouki, stop. I came on my own accord, I wanted to come. I wanted to see you. It doesn’t matter if I had classes, if you need me, I will always be here for you, I love you.”

Furihata shakes his head.

“You have to slow down every time for me, you have to wait for me, you have so many things to do, so much weight on your shoulders and I’m not helping with all this at all. You’re so amazing, you know? You can do so much and every time I’m just weighing you down with my stupid shit, and people are probably laughing at you for being with me and it’s all my fault and I can’t stand this! I can’t stand this guilt that I’m dragging you down, stopping you from achieving more. It hurts, terribly.”

“Is that what’s bothering you lately?” Akashi cups his cheeks, lifting his head to connect their gazes. His eyes are mysteriously shiny, but Furihata thinks it could very well perhaps be a trick of the light, since he can’t really see straight past those tears blurring his vision right now.

“You can do so much better without me, you know?” he croaks, “I try and try to match you, to be worthy of you, but I keep failing and I don’t know how to deal with all this crap, and I can’t go on without a day thinking you deserve better than this.”

“Kouki,” Akashi’s voice is quiet with rage, his eyes cold and furious, “I can decide for myself what I deserve, and how my life is supposed to be. And we’ve decided a long time ago that we will be together, didn’t we?”

“Look at me, Seijuro, I’m such a mess! Sometimes I think about us, the disparity, and I just feel so sad every time I look at you.”

He hears Akashi’s sharp intake of breath. And when he looks up from his lap, Akashi’s eyes have never been more upset, dark and filled with something he cannot name, and his lips are pursed into a thin line.

“Is it because of me?” He asks quietly, “Do you want me to– should I leave?”

“No!” Furihata surprises himself with his own outburst, “No… I don’t know. I’m sorry, I wish I didn’t feel like this. I know I should stop thinking, stop doubting things, but I just can’t help it right now. I don’t know why.”

If there were ever a way for him to stop overthinking things, stop all this anxiety and sadness from brewing in his mind, he’d willingly sell his kidneys and jump at the chance to make himself normal again. Akashi reassures him and tells him that it’s okay, it’s alright to feel like this, nothing is wrong, but Furihata knows how much he’s hurt the redhead, sees the anguish behind dichromatic irises inflicted by thoughtless, poisonous words and he feels even shittier for doing this to his boyfriend who loves him so much that he’d skip class without hesitation and sit the bullet train all the way from Kyoto to Tokyo just to check up on him for a day.

“I feel so sad when I think about us, you know?” he whispers, and Akashi’s fingers tighten against his own, “but then I think about us being apart, not knowing each other, and my heart aches even more, so much that I feel like I’m dying, Sei.”

Akashi’s eyes widen a little, registering the use of his pet name for what must be the first time, and he presses his lips to Furihata’s knuckles, one by one.

“I will always be here for you, please always remember that.”

“I’m sorry for being like this. I bet you hate me a lot right now, having to deal with my mess.”

“No. Never. I love you, Kouki. I just think you’re unaware of how much I do.”

The corners of Furihata’s lips tug upwards into a paper thin, watery smile despite the ache still stinging within his chest, and Akashi is more than happy to pull him closer for a tight, warm embrace. Furihata holds on tightly while Akashi peppers his face – tear-streaked cheeks, eyelids still warm from crying, the soft slope of his jaw – with small, tender kisses and rubs his back reassuringly.

“Do you feel better now?”

Furihata shudders, a side effect from feeling too much and crying too hard. “N-No? I don’t know…” his lips tremble, “but I think I need to lie down. I’m so exhausted from all this.”

Wordlessly, Akashi holds his hand all the way to his bedroom, and only lets go to tuck him in and smoothen out the creases on his forehead. Furihata tells him to stay, to not leave, because if he’s left alone he doesn’t know what sort of thoughts will start swarming up his mind, and so Akashi obliges, slipping seamlessly into the space beside him like he was made for sleeping beside anxious, sad brunets, and holds his beloved tightly in his warm arms, whispering words of comfort into his ears to block out the negativity that might reach them both in these four walls.

“I’m glad I came, or you would’ve been alone, experiencing this with no one to hold your hand and stay by your side.”

“S’okay,” Furihata mumbles, voice muffled because he’s buried his face against Akashi’s shirt, “I’m used to it. I got used to dealing with it on my own. I had to.”

Akashi sighs, fingers sifting through brown locks and untangling them in the process. “Please tell me the next time you feel like this, or if you feel it snowballing into something unbearable. I want to be here for you, you’ve seen me at my worst, have you not?”

Furihata, in his exhausted, sleep-induced fuzzy brain, flashes back to a time where Akashi was cold, untouchable, and could not love anyone like he could now.

“Yeah.”

“And yet you still love me, yes?”

“Of course.” Furihata answers without a single beat of hesitance this time.

“It’s the same for me, Kouki, please understand that. I love you no matter who you are.”

He says it so sincerely Furihata almost believes him, but before he could think of a reply, the soothing hum ebbs away at his consciousness, lulls him into a sense of security and he drifts away into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

❁

 

 

But that was then, and from there on, things get better, sort of. The anxiety doesn’t go away, probably never will (that's the thing about mental illnesses, once it happens you will never be the same again), but Akashi is understanding and kind enough to set up plans to combat the anxiety that plagues the deepest corners of his mind. There are days where Furihata feels like he has the sun bursting in his heart, steps springing with joy and vigour as he pounces on his redhead boyfriend from behind as a surprise, their kisses sweet like honey, and then there are days where he feels empty, like he’s lost parts of himself – that he can’t ever get back – to life, days where the voice in his head tells him he’s always never going to be good enough, and that’s when he curls up in the couch, Akashi sifting his pianist fingers through his brown locks and kissing him extra tenderly like he has all the love in the world to give Furihata unconditionally.

Sometimes it works, the haze clears and the sky is blue again; but sometimes it doesn’t. Life is a constant oscillation between dull, depressing shades of grey and rose-coloured, vibrant hues on the colour spectrum, and Furihata is caught among it all, unsure and unable to choose where he wants to go.

But they always get through it some way or another. Together. And it’s the only thing Furihata can take comfort in knowing that they’ll always be there for each other.

 

 

❁

 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go ahead first? Tetsuya should be in town already.” Akashi fusses over him for the nth time that morning as they approach the hall where the shogi competition committee await their chairman.

Furihata sighs. His boyfriend deals with him as if he were a petulant child with the patience of a bean. A tiny bean. Furihata is offended. He would like to remind everyone that he wasn’t the one who lost his temper and called up customer service to demand an apology-cum-explanation for the late pizza delivery last week. The poor guy was only five minutes late. Rush hour traffic does that to people most of the time.

“It’s fine, Sei. I don’t really want to go alone. Hanging out your friends is much more bearable when you’re around.”

They think of purple-haired giants with a fetish for crushing 5’4 pipsqueaks, red and blue-haired idiots who wreck each town they visit with their petty fights, and come to a general consensus that Akashi should be there to prevent mishaps and catastrophes from befalling upon the world whenever the rowdy bunch dubbed Generation of Miracles arrive in town.

Besides, Furihata’s nerves aren’t really up for dealing with all that havoc alone today. He’s been feeling on edge for a while, and a mental breakdown in the middle of public space is really the last thing he ever wants to see happen.

“I won’t be long,” Akashi promises, hands clasped tightly around the brunet’s shoulders, like the latter will float away and dissolve into nothingness with his heart if he doesn’t keep an eye on him, “I’ll take care of things and be out as soon as I can.”

Furihata only smiles and gives the redhead a light push on the shoulder.

“Go,” he says, “I’ll be here waiting.”

 

 

❁

 

 

Furihata finds a secluded spot to sit down, away from the main grounds where his peers wander around on the gravel like lifeless zombies ready to consume human flesh alive. It’s almost finals season – overworked college students scurry around campus like ants preparing for winter, soaking up as much sun as they can before hitting the books and exiling themselves to the land of the sleepless dead.

It’s no surprise that Furihata has found himself pulling all-nighters and sleeping under his work desk for weeks in a row. Projects are due soon, the final critique looms over their heads like a gloomy, angry storm cloud ready to pour any time, and his peers are gradually inching closer to freak-out mode as each day comes.

What comes as a surprise, however, is when he’s seated on the marble bench by the shogi hall, taping the blisters on his fingers that pop up as a result of cutting chipboard for eight hours straight, that who but Akashi Masaomi should appear before him and stare down at him like he’s nothing but worthless trash.

Akashi Masaomi is a business tycoon, a lonely king sitting over his subjects in the business empire with his emotions tucked safely behind a calculating, confident and ruthless front. Between the sparse encounters they had (Akashi never lets him meet his father unless absolutely necessary), the man has nothing but cold, steel-cutting words to say, and every meeting they’ve had has been nothing but discussions about potential business investments, the state of the world economy and things that seem to matter but in hindsight don’t at all.

(It’s so stifling. Furihata feels like he’s lost a decade of his lifespan for each passing minute spent with this man who doesn’t even ask for permission before taking a seat across him from the shogi table.)

And sometimes, when Furihata allows himself to stare at the man for more than ten seconds, stern lines of perpetual displeasure carved deeply into grim facial features, he sees what Akashi would’ve become had fate not granted them the opportunity of chancing upon each other amidst teenage basketball tournament drama that seems so silly now that the brunet looks back to wonder.

It’s frightening to see how much father and son have in common with each other.

Akashi Masaomi clears his throat. When he speaks, it’s blatant disapproval and aged resentment blended smoothly under a series of subtle jabs and condescending rebukes.

"Do you like shogi, Furihata-san?"

The morbid fear thumping across his chest nearly drowns him, but nevertheless, Furihata swallows his fears and responds as politely as he can.

"I've seen Seijuro play once or twice, sir."

Akashi-san nods, noncommittal noise escaping through curled lips. “Humour me and have a match with me.”

The next few minutes that pass in succession would certainly top the list of 1000 Times Furihata Wishes to Die Instead. He’s been keeping count of instances where death seemed to be a better option throughout recent years, but nothing would ever beat these few minutes of terrifying silence where the only noise that sounds throughout thin air is the quiet, passive-aggressive snap of each shogi piece on the wooden matchboard.

Furihata is determined to get through this by just staring at the shogi tiles and moving them to save his own ass and nothing else. Fuck, just what on earth is Akashi Masaomi doing in Tokyo? In Tokyo University?? And just so conveniently when Akashi has left Furihata’s side for important business that could not be delayed????

The heavens must hate him. Fuck you, karma.

“I’ve heard–” Akashi-san starts just as Furihata’s about to move his pawn and defend his king (he almost dropped his piece in terror but hush, nobody saw anything) “–that Seijuro is doing well in both his studies and work recently.”

_Has always been, you mean,_ Furihata wants to retort bitterly, but holds his tongue out of politeness. It would not bode well for Akashi to realise the attitude Furihata displays to his elders when the redhead attends his next father-son meeting. So, instead, Furihata hums in agreement and tries to salvage the sticky situation Akashi-san has trapped him in on the 9x9 wooden board. His pawns are in danger of being captured and ever since Akashi-san dropped his bishop amongst Furihata’s ranks like a bombshell plummeting to the ground at the speed of light, Furihata’s been sinking in his quicksand pit of misery like a bird drowning in a pond full of alligators.

“Yes, Akashi-san. Seijuro always does his best in everything he partakes in. He is President of the Equestrian Club and currently chairs the shogi competition committee collaborating with NHK.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Such is expected of him.”

Furihata winces internally. The sting of such sharp, cold words escaping from a parent’s mouth packs simply more than a punch to the gut. Humans are creatures with all sorts of needs, one has to be praised for their brilliance and outstanding achievements in order to find the strength to continue trekking on the path to success and glory.

Furihata cannot imagine how their father-son meetings are like. He thinks of his own family – warm, kind and accepting, with plenty of love and care to give – and his heart bleeds a river for Akashi.

“But,” Akashi-san continues without pausing, stern, cold red eyes piercing into Furihata’s soul, “he can be so much more, Furihata-san. He is unaware of the ridicule that surrounds him when he associates with people who are unfit to be his acquaintances. It weighs him down. This way, he cannot live up to the name of an Akashi.”

The air around them has changed. The shogi board lies forgotten. Akashi-san’s words have stolen all the air in Furihata’s lungs and left him rooted to the ground in fear of what he will say next.

"If you love him, you would let him go."

 

 

❁

 

 

In university, when freshmen and seniors alike are busy balancing academics and sports in their rose-coloured lives, Akashi is busy balancing academics, sports _and_ work in his life centered around concrete jungles of steel, busy being Regional Manager and ensuring the smooth running of all branches of the Akashi conglomerate in Japan under his care. He is also busy fulfilling his role as a good, filial son whose devotion to his father far exceeds anyone else that Furihata knows, constantly trying to shape himself as much as possible to fit the mould his father has created for him.

All at the tender age of 22.

But Furihata knows that Akashi would never be able to fit the mould of a perfect son who does everything his remaining parent asks of him. Conformity is the death of creativity, the death of life itself. If Akashi Seijuro were a puzzle piece, he wouldn’t fit in any of the spaces Akashi Masaomi could create for his son, because Furihata’s existence alone in the redhead’s life has caused the latter to change and deviate from the path his father has forced him to take. When Akashi Seijuro fell in love with Furihata Kouki, a boy of his age, he could never be the prime example of a perfect son in Akashi Masaomi’s eyes ever again.

Furihata remembers the nights when Akashi didn’t– _couldn’t_ come home, the hours he spent by his desk not in school but in prison that he calls his office, crunching numbers late into the night when everybody else has left and all that remains as company is the red coffee mug Furihata once bought him as a gift, the only thing so out of place in an office designed with a lack of comfort and warmth a soul needs for salvation. Shogi has become a distant memory. Furihata can count the number of times his lover has touched his prized shogi set since he got promoted to regional manager in his sophomore year of university, but he cannot bear to recollect the moments Akashi finally stumbles home after a long day and heads straight for their shared bedroom without a word, not even a “I’m home” uttered. It breaks Furihata when the brunet has garnered enough courage to peek through the bedroom door to see the redhead lying lifelessly on the bed, office wear still donned and his tie tossed carelessly into a lonely corner of the room. Gently, as to not disturb the resting man, Furihata pries the heavy arm off the weary face in case it really crushes him to death and presses his lips to his lover’s forehead to smoothen those creases and light a tiny smile on those thin lips.

And later on, when Furihata finally crawls into bed after putting away the soup Akashi is too tired to eat, he pulls the latter into his arms and tries to stop the tremors running across the latter’s body.

“It’s just the cold.” Akashi says quietly.

But Furihata can hear it. The tiny cracks in his voice, the enormous amount of pressure burdened on his shoulders that he has to support to prevent his bones from snapping and caving in. Furihata has learned to distinguish the subtle differences in quiet Akashi and exhausted Akashi, and has further learned from experience to say nothing but continue shielding him from the biting cold. Silently. Because sometimes there are no words enough to convey how much Furihata wants to be there for him, how much Furihata wishes love could save him from having to endure all the heavy clippings pinned onto wings that have barely begun to fly.

Akashi's gaze is hard, the clock works in his brain must still be churning and turning to find the best solution for whatever problem he has encountered in work, but Furihata still breaks through those cold, hard walls of steel and sees the unwritten plea trapped in those dichromatic orbs.

_Stay with me, please._

So, wordlessly, he pulls the covers higher and closer and hopes that it will be enough to get them both through the hard and trying times.

_”If you love him, you would let him go.”_

It reminds Furihata of loneliness rooting itself in the empty hearts of the grieving, of long silences that come with staring at the side of the portrait of a person who once existed, and the accompanying bitterness that soaks up every bit of happiness one used to have, in cold spaces that used to house a happy family.

It’s heartbreaking. Here sits a man who never got over the death of his wife nor understood the signs grief has been trying to show him all this time. People in grief bleed sorrow in places where nobody else can see, but Furihata wonders whether Akashi Masaomi realises the reason he feels like an empty shell (with only indignance and anger to fill in the void) is that he’s been bleeding himself dry this whole time. Unknowingly. But it’s not fair that he has to pull his son over to a side devoid of any happy, warm feeling to accompany him in his misery of grieving for his late wife. No, Akashi Seijuro deserves more than that.

Here, Akashi has climbed up the crushing, lonely abyss his father had casted him into, he has friends who have taught him love and life and what it means to cherish and be cherished. His love is so great, capabilities far beyond the reach of jealous enemies, Furihata will not allow Akashi to forsake all he has to be trapped in the same place as his father who has never moved on after the loss of his wife, stuck in mourning for someone who will never come back.

It’s not fair Akashi has to forego his much-deserved freedom and youth in return for his father’s scathing approval, if one could even call it that. Akashi deserves so much more than a curt nod and absence of praise for a job brilliantly done, he deserves a lifetime of unconditional paternal care and affection for saving the company from falling into those stupid bankruptcy schemes a stupid business partner nearly costed them, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to have his soul turn stone cold when Furihata is all he has left to keep him warm. So, today, Furihata will fight and win this war for him once and for all.

“Akashi-san, please understand,” Furihata surprises himself with the clarity in his voice, confidence transforming his posture and pulling back slouched shoulders, preparing for a confrontation he’s determined to win against.

“It’s because I love him that I cannot let him go.”

The calm façade shatters. Akashi-san’s face breaks into pure, utter rage as he rises from his seat, towering over Furihata who still stares back resolutely at him, shoulders squared and ready to take on the world for the happiness of a man who sacrificed and gave him everything, more than he ever could have given.

_“You dare–”_

“Seijuro has been an exemplary son to you,” Furihata interrupts him, adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream and giving him the courage to take pleasure in the way shock rips across Akashi-san’s outaged face, “he gives everyone the best he can give, he does everything you ask of him, and delivers the best outcome for your satisfaction. He always has the best interests at heart for the company, _for you,_ so I only ask for your understanding in allowing him the only thing he’s ever wanted in life, sir. Please allow him the freedom to choose how he wishes to live his life and whom he wishes give his love to. That is all I ask of you.”

The tension amongst the silence is thick in the air. Akashi-san’s shoulders heave up and down, up and down with fury, but Furihata withstands the wrath of the Akashi patriarch with admirable resolve. They stare at one another, waiting for each other to back down, until the nosy college students peppered across campus start to point and whisper.

Akashi Masaomi looks away first. Quietly, Furihata’s lungs let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“He was always too soft,” the man grunts, fists clenched and knuckles dangerously white, “always took after his mother. Too soft.”

Furihata thinks of red eyes with determination and resilience ablaze, hands that have shaken and sealed over a thousand deals that always brought the conglomerate prosperity and fortune, and shoulders that have always withstood the test of time and borne every burden stacked upon them with admirable resolve and pigheaded stubbornness.

“No sir,” he says, smiling fondly at the comparison drawn up in his mind. Papa Akashi and little bocchan Akashi and his expensive baby clothes. What a family they must have been in the past when the glass never cracked and everything was picture perfect.

“He takes after you. Too much, sometimes.”

 

 

❁

 

 

If life were a fairy tale, Akashi Seijuro would have appeared in the next instant by Furihata’s side, declared that he had witnessed everything that transpired between his father and boyfriend, and Akashi Masaomi would have sat down, begged for his son’s forgiveness and mended the strained bond between father and son and everyone would’ve rode off into the sunset with happiness filled in every breath they take. A happily ever after that they deserved.

But life is not as such, unfortunately. When all words have left the elder redhead, the man only steels himself and tucks every hint of emotion back into a corner where no one can see.

He nods. Furihata dips his head back in acknowledgement. And then Akashi Masaomi is gone, taking away what probably is 10 years of Furihata’s lifespan with him after their little chat.

To compensate (and avoid the curious stares from nosy college students), Furihata fishes out his PSP from his messenger bag and starts a new game on his newly updated version of Love Live! School Idol Festival!

Akashi hates this game with a burning passion and during petty fights, when they refused to speak to each other, Furihata would whip out his PSP and start smashing buttons with the volume on maximum just to spite the redhead and piss him off.

_”Kouki, stop playing that despicable game. It’s annoying.”_

_”Whaaa? Sorry, can’t hear you over this song I’m playing.”_

_”Kouki...”_

_”Hush, in the middle of team bonding now. Can’t talk.”_

Oh, good times, good times.

Just as Eri-chan commends him for a song well played (she is his favourite – student council president, perfectionist, talented and excellent in academics and athletics and strategist of the entire idol group – _god it feels like he has a type or an unhealthy obsession for geniuses_ ), a shadow falls on his screen. Furihata looks up, and winces when sunlight peeking from red locks of hair and broad shoulders blind his retinas.

“I was under the impression we came to an agreement regarding this ridiculous game, Kouki.” Akashi steps away and takes a seat beside him on the marble bench. Subtly, he eyes the shogi board in front of them with piqued curiosity and interest.

“Did you play?” he asks. Furihata’s thumbs stop tapping furiously against his PSP screen for a second and blinks. Oops, he forgot to clean the board.

“No, I didn’t.” He lies and continues trying to save whatever pitiful progress he landed himself in his ranking gauge when Akashi interrupted him.

“I see.”

Furihata only smiles and continues tapping away so that Eri-chan would compliment him more when he finishes this game with a personal best. Akashi peers at his screen from his shoulder, watching with mild disinterest as the brunet taps away on coloured notes appearing on the screen one after another.

“I still do not understand the appeal of this game and the reason behind your infatuation for virtual characters.” he comments, but only after Furihata has finished another round, because despite his dislike for this game he respects that Furihata requires 100% concentration in beating personal high scores when Love Live! is involved.

“It’s a rhythm game, Seijuro. You should try it some time. Plus, the characters are pretty cute. Eri-chan is my favourite.”

Akashi’s eyebrows twitch in displeasure at the last statement, and Furihata almost pulls a nerve trying not to laugh at the obvious jealousy his lover fails spectacularly at concealing. Akashi has a possessive streak hidden in the deepest corners of his consciousness that leaks when Furihata showers fictional characters of his favourite manga series and games with more attention than he does with his redhead boyfriend. And it suddenly dawns on Furihata the reason behind the extra hugs and affectionate gestures Akashi demands every time after Furihata logs off the game. It’s plenty adorable to see his boyfriend getting worked up over having to think he has to struggle to compete with virtual 2D characters for his affections. Maybe he should consider making a trip to Akihabara and invest in those nendoroids just to piss Akashi off more when they get into fights.

“Do you want to play, Seijuro?” Furihata offers. The game console sits on his lap, taunting.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Awesome. I’m pretty confident about my personal best, so let’s see if you can beat it.”

He logs on to a new game and adjusts the settings to Easy Mode, but Akashi only snorts, swipes to one of those B-sides song selections and picks Expert Mode by himself.

“Don’t insult me, Kouki.”

Meh, Furihata thinks. He lets Akashi choose a character, and the latter only smiles, pleased, when Furihata informs him of his favourite, pointing at the blonde character smiling at them on the screen. Furihata doesn’t miss the the faint tinge of pink that appears on his upturned cheeks when he lists down his favourite traits of Ayase Eri.

But he soon finds himself eating his words when Akashi manages ( _somehow_ ) to hit all the notes perfectly, never missing a single beat and pretty much just slaying all first-timers who have only begun to play, leaving them in the dust of his victory while he consistently maintains a full HP bar, achieves the ever elusive S-rank, and nails all fucking combos of the song.

_In Expert Mode._

“Holy shit.”

Akashi smirks, smug as he returns a flabbergasted Furihata the PSP. “It’s just a rhythm game. You should try it sometime, Kouki.”

_The nerve of this guy–_

“It’s not fair.”

“Now now, don’t pout and sulk just because I beat you in a game, Kouki. I’m sure there is more to life than just winning high scores on video games.” The redhead pats his cheek affectionately, pecking him lightly on the nose in an attempt to console his disappointed boyfriend. Furihata slumps into the bench, looking away. All that comes out of his mouth next is a quiet mumble.

“But you’re always better than me.”

If Akashi picks up on the self-doubt in his voice, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he laces their fingers together and pulls the brunet along towards the campus exit, leaving ripples of Furihata’s self-doubt and unease in their wake.

“We should get moving. I’m sure Tetsuya is waiting for us at the cafe already.”

Akashi points at the shuttle bus they’re supposed to take to reach town (quietly excited because as young master of the Akashi household he is always chauffeured around and there aren’t many opportunities for him to experience taking public transportation), but all Furihata can see is the hand that has led them both through the obstacles life has thrown their way.

He thinks of overbearing parental figures, of shogi pieces, victory and triumph, of laughter and inside jokes shared between cups of warm coffee on quiet afternoons in an apartment made for two.

Wherever that hand leads, Furihata will follow.

“Kouki?”

On some days, Furihata’s heart feels so full (of tender love and endless affection) it constantly bursts into flames that keep him warm and alive. On some days, his mind tells his heart that he’s undeserving of this love that keeps him alive, tells him that his loved ones are always better off without him and the emotional baggage that comes along with loving him, and it takes all he can slink out of bed and paddle to the couch and curl into ball of misery and inexplicable, unexplainable sadness. It’s on these days Akashi would hold him and cradle him gently in his arms, accept him for all the mess and walking contradiction that he is, and shield him from the bitterness that tugs at the seams of his heart relentlessly.

Today is a mixture of both days. He is so loved, yet today feels like a happy sad kind of day, or a sad happy day, whichever makes more sense to the mind. But nevertheless, beneath all that wistfulness and melancholy washing over him lies a question he has yet to find the answer to.

How can somebody feel so happy yet sad at the same time?

“We could go home and watch a movie, if you’d like. Tetsuya would understand.” Akashi strides forward and places a comforting hand on Furihata’s arm. His dichromatic eyes are filled with concern, and half of Furihata’s mind tells himself that he’s undeserving of this, that he’s screwing up everything that they’ve planned since weeks ago, but today the flames are warm enough to burn away the poisonous, lethal words whispering in his ears, and tell him that things will be okay, not now, maybe not tomorrow, but one day everything will be, as long as they have each other.

“It’s alright.” Furihata smiles weakly, “I’m okay. I think.”

Perhaps it’s the fear and anxiety from confronting overbearing parental figures catching up to his nerves. Fight or flight senses overworked and experiencing a break down now that the danger has passed. So, he holds on to Akashi’s warm hand, focuses on the comforting pressure between entwined fingers anchoring him to this world and reorients himself back to the shore.

He’ll be okay again, one day. He can hear the warm fingers clasping his cold ones telling him so today.

“Don’t let go, please?” he asks.

Akashi’s eyes crinkle. Under the sun, he looks ethereal, godly – like a person who loves unconditionally and is loved so in return.

 

“Never.”

 

 

❁

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hi. it's me. i'm back (for long, I hope). if you're still here, wow, thank you so much? long a/n ahead!
> 
> \- i thought i would be done with this series after i finished writing this fic, but apparently the more i wrote the more those pesky plot bunnies camped out in my head so i guess this isn't the end of the series? unless Life happens again and my muse goes on strike for another eon or two
> 
> \- the anxiety attack scene is something quite personal to me, i hope i managed to… do it justice? write it properly? idk. im pretty sure akashi’s way of handling it could’ve been better at some parts, but i think we should cut our little emperor some slack. i don’t think he was expecting for a full-blown anxiety attack from furi when he came down all the way to tokyo. ~~i’ve only googled how someone should calm a person down during an anxiety attack and based it off a little how i would’ve wanted to be handled during an episode so it might be a little ways off. i’ve always had to overcome my anxiety attacks alone in my room so i’m not quite sure what’s the exact best way since i think some of the finer details are different for everyone who experiences all this crap always plaguing our minds~~
> 
> \- thanks guys for always leaving kudos and comments and reading stuff i write. it’s extremely encouraging :) im sorry i rarely reply, but most of the time it takes me a while to notice someone posted a comment and i get nervous about replying bc such a long time has passed and i freak out but pls know that i appreciate each and every one of you very much ;w; hugs
> 
> \- i haven’t written much for the past year, bc i was kind of in a rough place, but now i’m slowly getting better, and i hope i’ll have more time for writing and doing what i like again! thanks so much for reading this and staying till the end. please have a great day ahead <3
> 
>  
> 
> (ps: furihata didn't know what kind of monster he unleashed when he introduced akashi to love live)


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